


he told me it wasn't going to be okay, and he wouldn't kiss me (but he covered my body with his body)

by voxofthevoid



Series: couldn't get the boy to kill me [3]
Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Avenger Bucky Barnes, Biting, Canon Divergence - Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Captain America Steve Rogers/Modern Bucky Barnes, Choking, Dominance and Submission, Light Angst, M/M, Mild S&M, Oral Sex, References to Rape Fantasies, Riding, Rimming, Rough Sex, SHIELD Agent Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-03
Updated: 2019-07-03
Packaged: 2020-06-02 16:51:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19445614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voxofthevoid/pseuds/voxofthevoid
Summary: “You’ll hurt yourself. I don’t want this to affect you badly tomorrow. We need you, Bucky.”“A dick up my ass ain’t gonna break me, Cap. Not even your monster cock.”“Jesuswept,” Steve hisses, closing his eyes like that will make the heat on his face go away. Cool fingers touch his cheeks, and Steve slits an eye open, finds Bucky caressing his face with a soft expression.He catches Steve looking and snatches his hand back, smirking brazenly.“C’mon, I can take it,” he says, half a challenge, tilting his head in a way that accentuates the long line of his throat. Darkening marks form a violent latticework on his flesh. He’ll go to war tomorrow wearing Steve on his skin, and the knowledge is heady, even when he knows it doesn’t mean anything, not to Bucky.A good fuck. Steve can give him that.“Then get to work, Soldier.”-Before Hydra, and after.





	he told me it wasn't going to be okay, and he wouldn't kiss me (but he covered my body with his body)

**Author's Note:**

> Fic title from “The Torn-Up Road” by Richard Siken. [kocuria](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kocuria) made the pretty af banner!
> 
> You can find my [tumblr here.](https://voxofthevoid.tumblr.com/)

* * *

* * *

“I guess this means you died for nothing,” says a quiet voice in the darkness, lacking malice but no less cutting for it. “How does that make you feel?”

Irritation flares, and Steve’s fiercely glad that he has his back to the other occupant of the room. The question was easier to take from Natasha, and he knows that it’s not entirely because of their growing camaraderie. Something about this man just tugs at Steve, not always in a good way.

Their last personal interaction is vivid in Steve’s mind. He hasn’t been losing sleep over it, but seeing Bucky always brings it back, that flash of disappointment followed by a spear of hurt. It’s not really Bucky’s fault, he was just brutally honest. Steve makes sure not to let it interfere with their missions, but that doesn’t stop him from having questions.

Why the fuck did Bucky take his shirt is chief among them but damn if he’ll ever ask.

“You sound like a therapist,” he says in the end. “Or Natasha.”

“Didn’t ever want to hear Natasha and therapist used in the same sentence, thank you for that.” He’s closer now, and the sharp amusement in his tone seems to twist right into Steve’s ears. Like being caressed by thorns. “You haven’t answered my question.”

“Take a goddamn hint, Barnes.”

Steve turns around; has to, despite his better judgment screaming otherwise. It’s vindicated when the sight that greets him is Bucky seated on the bed and clad in just a towel. It barely preserves his modesty, and Steve has to fight not to let his gaze rove over miles of exposed skin. It takes more restraint than he wants to admit to. Bucky’s a gorgeous guy, and Steve’s eidetic memory is only too happy to supply him with phantom sensations of how warm and pliant he was under his hands.

Bucky laughs, loud but devoid of humor. He tilts his head to the side, a few strands of wet dark hair falling across his face. Steve’s fingers itch with the dual urges to reach across and brush them away and to fist a hand in all that long, thick hair and _pull_.

He folds his arms across his chest and plants his feet, aware of how defensive the position is but not giving a shit. Bucky will likely assume it’s for the wrong reasons anyway.

“Not very Captain America of you,” Bucky taunts, shit-eating grin splitting his pretty face. “What, no speech of duty and honor? Saving it for the press?”

“The press wouldn’t be too interested in that right now,” Steve tells him, amused even though he really shouldn’t be. There’s something about the way Bucky says ‘Captain America’ that seems divorced from Steve himself, in spite of how he calls Steve _Cap_ and _sir_ and pushes against him. He likes it and doesn’t pause too long to think about why.

“Oh, they’ll be interested in whatever you have to say, but Hydra – S.H.I.E.L.D now, I guess – will be even more interested in the opportunity to shoot you dead.”

There’s a studied nonchalance in the way he equates Hydra and S.H.I.E.L.D. It’s subtle, but that particular crack in that particular armor is one Steve is intimately familiar with.

“How does it make _you_ feel, to know you’ve given almost a decade of your life to Nazis?

Bucky’s eyes widen, expression outraged for an instant before it morphs to manic delight.

“ _Ouch_ , Cap. You bite, I like it.” Bucky’s smirk turns crooked, and Steve’s starkly reminded of how sweetly his skin gave under his teeth, how prettily he bruised. “Feels like shit. But hey, I was just an agent, one of the many and expendable. S.H.I.E.L.D isn’t my legacy, not like you.”

“It’s Peggy’s legacy,” Steve says sharply. “And Howard’s.”

“Does that make it better or worse?” Bucky asks like he already knows the answer. “A homage then. Someone really wanted the initials to spell out shield, at least.”

Peggy.

It used to make Steve smile; the only thing about S.H.I.E.L.D that could. In his more fanciful – desperate – moments, he liked to think that she was giving him purpose even though that five-foot-nothing menace who didn’t know how to give up went to the ice and came out a hollowed out shell.

“Then the least I can do for them is to burn the whole thing to the ground.”

Bucky smiles, a soft little thing that’s too sweet for the matter at hand. Steve aches a little at the sight. He doesn’t think he’ll get to see that expression on Bucky much – doesn’t think it shows up often either.

“That’s fair,” Bucky finally says, rising to his feet in one smooth motion. The towel at his waist slips half an inch but doesn’t fall. Steve’s throat clicks when he swallows. “Big day tomorrow. We should get some sleep.”

Steve looks at the room they’re supposed to share. There’s only one bed, but there’s a mat on the floor which Steve fully intends to take. It’s not like he’ll sleep anyway. It’s just bad luck that he’s rooming with Bucky; space is limited here, and everyone was so busy ironing out a solid plan to take down Hydra that when the time came to shut up and pretend to sleep before someone had an aneurism, Hill just shooed them off and left to stand vigil by Fury.

Sam batted his eyelashes and wormed his way into rooming with Natasha, leaving Bucky and Steve together.

He didn’t complain precisely because of how badly he wanted to. He can’t even begin to wonder what Bucky’s thinking.

“Guess we should. You can take the bed.”

“Ever the noble hero,” Bucky says, sighing theatrically. Steve says nothing but a hand snags his arm before he can skirt around Bucky and collapse on the mat.

He nearly falls on Bucky and is glad he doesn’t because that would have left them tangled together on the bed, and Steve knows just how bad an idea that is. The attraction hasn’t vanished just because Steve exercised his better judgment that day at the gala – he still wants Bucky, wants him so bad it burns sometimes.

He’ll get attached though. He knows. Bucky is his type, in more ways than one. And he’s also made it clear that sex is all he wants, no strings attached, and Steve just doesn’t do that.

He tells himself that, lets his mind spin a litany of warnings, all the while Bucky stares up at him with half-lidded eyes and a gentle curve to his pink, pink mouth.

“You don’t look like you’ll sleep much, Cap. I know I won’t.”

“Barnes…”

Steve means to mutter an admonishment and back away, but his voice trails off, weak even to his own ears. Bucky presses more firmly against him, and Steve can feel the heat of him through his thin T-shirt. He wants more, wants to kiss him, and Jesus, this won’t turn out well.

“It’s alright,” Bucky says, raising a hand to gently cup the back of Steve’s head. “You’re tense, I get it. Why don’t I take the edge off, hm? Make you feel better.”

“Christ, Barnes. I already told you I don’t do this.”

Bucky’s smirk is sin itself.

“Well, these are extenuating circumstances. We might die tomorrow and all. You can always say no, Cap. One word and I’ll back off.”

“Will you?” Steve asks, mouth brushing the top of Bucky’s cheek.

“If you mean it.”

The towel falls to the floor.

Steve wants to kiss him, taste every fucking inch of him, and he can’t so he lifts Bucky up instead, greedily spanning his hands over all that warm flesh. Strong legs wrap around him and fingers twist into his hair, Bucky clinging tight as he bares his throat for Steve’s teeth. He makes the sweetest noises when Steve sucks bruises into his skin, squirming in his grip like he wants to get away and crawl closer at the same time, and it’s good, hot and perfect, but Steve wants more.

He always wants more.

They collapse on the bed, Bucky a vision on the crappy, creaky bed with its shitty mattress. It looks like it’ll break from a good fuck, and Steve wants badly to test that theory.

“Slick?” he asks, poised over Bucky and half-crushing him with his weight, not that he seems to mind. His question gets him a dazed, mournful noise, and it takes a few seconds for Bucky’s eyes to clear.

“I – yeah, wait, fuck. No. _Fuck_.”

“Shh,” Steve hushes automatically, patting Bucky’s cheek gently. “It’s alright.”

“Not fucking alright,” Bucky growls, spitting mad and gorgeous with it. His hips buck up, almost shoving Steve off him and making a damn fine point. “Want you _in_ me.”

Steve pauses a moment, taking in Bucky’s bright eyes and flushed cheeks. He’s hard already, cock trapped between their bodies, and so is Steve, straining painfully against his jeans.

“Be quiet,” Steve says, voice distant in his own head, hard and commanding, “and stay still, and I’ll give you what you want.”

He can feel Bucky freeze under him, not even breathing as he stares at Steve. It seems an eternity later that he gets a nod, a terse little one that’s at odds to Bucky’s darkened eyes and wet, parted lips.

“Good boy,” Steve tells him, the praise soft, and doesn’t fight the thrill that goes through him when Bucky turns his face away with a wounded noise.

Steve’s eyes are quickly drawn to the curve of his neck, long and taut and begging for a mouth to bruise it up. The skin’s warm when Steve brushes his lips against it, tongue flicking out to taste the blood that pounds underneath. He sucks at the hickeys already there, relishing Bucky’s answering hiss, and marks up the unmarred skin until Bucky is covered in a motley of red and pink from chin to clavicle. Steve wants to kiss up his throat and catch his mouth, lick inside and breathe him in.

He slides down instead, settling between the legs that Bucky sweetly spreads for him, mouth sliding along his chest. Bucky’s body is a thing of wiry strength, but it trembles under Steve’s mouth like it would shatter with a touch.

Steve’s teeth close around a nipple, and Bucky gives a full-body shudder, hands flying up to clutch at Steve’s shoulder. They don’t do anything but cling, pressing short-lived marks onto flesh, as Steve works Bucky’s chest with tongue and teeth. It’s sensitive, and each bite and tug at his nipples pull throaty noises out of Bucky, ones that go straight to Steve’s dick.

He doesn’t stop until Bucky’s nipples are red and swollen, the skin around them flushed violently and marked with teeth. He flicks his tongue over them one last time, shivering at Bucky’s breathless gasp, and reluctantly pulls away so he can mouth his way down his stomach. Bucky doesn’t let go of him though he does grow quieter. When Steve chances an upward glance, he finds Bucky staring down with teeth set deep into his own lower lip like he finally remembered that he promised to be quiet.

Steve nips at his hipbone, circles his navel with his tongue, and generally does everything but put his mouth where Bucky clearly wants it.

To his credit, Bucky doesn’t break all that easy, doesn’t part his mouth and plead. He whines instead, high and desperate, fingers clenching and unclenching on Steve’s arms. He whines again when Steve trails his mouth down one thick thigh, legs trembling from the strain of lying still. Steve takes mercy on him, prompted as much by his own impatience as Bucky’s low-pitched desperation.

His lips close around the tip of Bucky’s cock, suckling gently. There’s a shout, and Steve’s hands clamping down on Bucky’s hips are all that keep him from thrusting up for more.

Steve pulls away, shifting to his knees between Bucky’s legs. He tsks at the beautiful wreck of a boy gaping at him with wide eyes and taps two fingers against his cock like it’s a disobedient little pet.

“Told you to stay still,” Steve scolds, shaking his head with faux disappointment. “And here I was going to let you come in my mouth too.”

Bucky whimpers again, eyes growing wider, their pretty blue almost black now. Like this, Steve can forget the outside world, forget Fury and Hydra and how any of them might die tomorrow. Like this, it’s just Bucky and Steve and their bodies, and it’s addictive, this man and the things he does to Steve.

“I–”

“Quiet,” Steve snaps and is seized by a strange blend of satisfaction and disappointment when Bucky’s mouth clicks shut. His obedience is heady, but sometimes, all Steve can think about is that night at S.H.I.E.L.D and the thud of their fists on each other’s flesh.

“Turn around,” Steve orders, gentling his voice, but there’s no hesitation in Bucky save for the trembling of his limbs that make him clumsy as he tries to roll over without kicking Steve who stays right where is his, unhelpful but enjoying the view.

“Hands and knees, Barnes.”

And god, what a view.

Steve smooths his hands over the firm curve of his ass, squeezing hard just to watch Bucky squirm. He spreads them apart, exposing his hole, pink and twitching like it knows what Steve plans to do.

“You cleaned up, didn’t you?” Steve asks. He knows the answer; it’s no coincidence that Bucky was sitting around in just a towel when he could have changed at the showers like Steve did. But he wants to hear him admit it.

Bucky does, nodding, the muscles of his back tensing.

“I can’t hear you.”

There’s no answer, Bucky’s _shaking_ , and Steve almost takes mercy on him before Bucky rasps an answer.

“Yes.”

Steve slaps his ass, holding back only enough to avoid breaking anything, and isn’t even surprised when Bucky arches back with a scream. His cock’s dripping now, slick at the tip, and Steve’s own aches in sympathy. He pops the button and unzips his fly but doesn’t go any further.

“Yes _what_ , Barnes?”

“Sir,” Bucky breathes. Steve doesn’t understand the wonder in his voice, not when Steve’s the one whose breath just got knocked out of his lungs. “Yes, sir, I – I cleaned up. For you.”

Steve rewards him with a kiss, mouth dragging along the base of his spine.

“You mean you planned this, you shit. Should tan your hide till it’s raw, but we need you on the ground tomorrow, not limping around with a sore ass.” 

“If you do your part right, I’ll have a sore ass anyway,” Bucky quips, a menace even when he’s panting for it. Steve likes him far too much for comfort. He masks the surge of emotion with another harsh smack, hungrily eyeing how Bucky’s skin turns white for a second before blushing bright in the shape of a handprint.

Steve doesn’t give him any warning, just spreads those plump cheeks apart and dives right in, licking a wet, dirty stripe up Bucky’s hole.

He screams again, hands buckling and hips pushing back, squirming against Steve’s mouth like he’s dying for it. Steve gives it to him, tracing the rim with the tip of his tongue and pressing the flat of it against the twitching hole, getting him wet and sloppy. It gives away nice and sweet at the first hint of pressure, Steve’s tongue slipping in with little resistance.

Bucky _howls_ , orders forgotten, and Steve doesn’t even mind, a little drunk on how easy he is, how fucking reactive. He works his tongue in as best as he can, mouth open and hot around Bucky’s hole, coaxing it into letting him in. Each lick wins him a moan, each teasing nip a ragged cry. A part of Steve wants to sink his teeth in just to hear Bucky scream. He doesn’t know how can he want a man so bad while aching to tear him apart, but he’s always been a little like this, and Bucky brings it out of him with nothing more than a long look.

He’s danger, this pretty boy with his blue eyes and wicked mouth, and Steve had more than one reason for turning him away after last time.

But now the world’s going to hell in a handbasket, and Bucky’s here and he _wants_ Steve, and he’s not that good a man, never was.

 _Just this once_ , is what he tells himself, hot down to his core while Bucky writhes around his tongue. _If we both survive, I won’t touch him again, and God, please, let this man live._

He doesn’t stop until Bucky’s keening into the sheets, rim lose and fluttering around Steve’s mouth and finger. His jaw’s aching something fierce so he pulls away, and the sound Bucky makes is the sweetest blend of relieved and devastated. Steve quiets him with another finger, sliding in roughly. It’s a tight fit even with how his mouth loosened Bucky up, the lack of lube making for some rough friction. Bucky doesn’t seem to care, hips rocking back even when Steve’s knuckles are flush against his rim, grinding against his fingers with naked need.

Steve just watches for a while, can’t help it when Bucky’s a dream given flesh. The muscles of his back ripple as he fucks himself on Steve’s fingers, and his thighs are taut and trembling, begging Steve to set his teeth on them. And he does, keeping his fingers inside Bucky and crooking them cruelly when the bite makes him shudder away. The sound Bucky makes might be a word, a curse or Steve’s name or both, but it’s muffled by his mouth against the mattress. His body’s honest enough, skin bruising so pretty and ass clenching around Steve like it wants to suck him in.

There’s a part of Steve that does want to be gentle, to add another finger, open him up all sweet and slow, and slide in with all the care he can muster. But it’s a quiet part, born half from a notion of what he should do and half from the inexplicable urges Bucky’s baby blues rouse in him, and it’s easy enough to silence it.

He crooks his fingers again, pressing against the spot that makes Bucky arch his spine and roll his hips back, and his knuckles press roughly against the rim for a moment before he pulls his hand away, leaving Bucky loose and open.

He presses one last kiss there, smiling at Bucky’s startled whimper, and pulls back, rising to his knees so he can shove down his jeans and free his cock.

He spits on his palm, and it’s gross, no way around that, but his cock doesn’t give a fuck, throbbing in his grip as he slicks it up. Bucky doesn’t seem to give a fuck either, raising his ass in a silent demand and throwing a look over his shoulder that spears right through Steve. He doesn’t pause to ask if he’s sure, just positions himself against Bucky’s hole and starts to push. It’s slow going, a tight fight, scorching heat swallowing his cock and turning his mind to mush. He didn’t forget how it felt to be inside Bucky, couldn’t if he tried, but memory doesn’t hold a candle to the reality of it, hot and wet and maddening.

He wants to slam in deep, get Bucky screaming on his cock, but he keeps it slow, never stopping but not going so far as to tear into Bucky. It must still hurt, has to, and Bucky’s making low, gutted noises into the mattress, his whole body rigid like he’ll try and flee if he moves. Steve doesn’t want to imagine it, but he does and feels a hot flush of shame at how badly he wants to wrestle Bucky back down and fuck into him until he’s a crying mess under Steve. It’s just fantasy, it’s fine, but _god_ , if he could have it, if Bucky would want it…

Steve bottoms out with a soul-deep groan, panting violently where he’s bowed over Bucky. He bends to press a kiss on Bucky’s nape and ends up breathing open-mouthed against his hair. His hips are moving without much conscious control, helpless not to rock into Bucky. He’s deep as he can get, buried to the hilt, but he wants more, somehow, wants to push and push until Bucky breaks open and lets him _in_.

He fumbles for a distraction, sliding a hand under Bucky and wrapping it around his cock. It’s soft in his hands, come still wet along its length. Steve swears, biting down hard on Bucky’s skin in an attempt to stave off his own orgasm.

“When?” he asks, barely recognizing the hoarse rasp his voice has become.

Bucky doesn’t answer, just moans into the sheets, and Steve tightens his grip on his spent cock, grinding his hips at the same time. Bucky jolts like he’s been electrocuted, shuddering and heaving for breath.

“ _When_ , Bucky?”

“I – I don’t – your mouth. I came from your _mouth_ , god, _Steve_.”

“Christ,” Steve gasps, fucking into Bucky with short, frantic thrusts, losing his mind at the tight heat of him and the image in his head, of Bucky writhing and whining on Steve’s tongue and _coming_ , just like that, untouched and without even a cock in him.

“A fuckin’ menace, Barnes, you’re–”

Steve cuts off, gasping soundlessly as his climax tears into him, furious like it wants to wring him out and leave behind a senseless shell. Bucky says something; his body twists and ass tightens, but Steve’s lost to the fire in his veins and the way Bucky’s filling up around him.

He slumps over him, pinning Bucky to the mattress. He’s warm and solid under Steve, and it feels good to be so close, their skin slick with sweat and breaths loud in the small room. Steve’s tempted to press kisses down the length of his back, sweet and aching, but something makes him rise instead, pulling out of Bucky with a faint gasp. His come trickles out of Bucky, staining his rim a pearly white. Steve grabs his cheeks and spreads them a little, breathless at the sight of Bucky’s hole twitching and leaking. He brushes a thumb along the wetness, pressing against the opening and keeping his come inside Bucky.

“Sweet Jesus,” Bucky wheezes under him, voice soft and trembling. “You’re fucking filthy.”

Steve has to smile at that, but he stops too, shaking his head at Bucky’s grumbled complaint. He lies down beside Bucky. It’s a tight fit and can’t help thinking of the last time they did this, how it ended. Bucky can’t leave this time – well, he can, but Steve would rather he didn’t and not just because of selfish reasons. They need all the rest they can get, even if it’s just lying down with their eyes closed and mind racing.

Bucky’s the one who speaks first, delicately turning over so he’s on his side towards Steve. He tries not to show his surprise.

“You ready for tomorrow, Cap?”

“Yes,” Steve lies. He doesn’t like the look in Bucky’s eyes, the sharp and personal knowing. “We have a plan.”

“The man with a plan,” Bucky hums, lips twitching. Steve bites back a grimace which only makes Bucky smile properly. Embarrassment’s not a bad price to pay for that view, but that thought sits uneasily in Steve’s head.

“Not entirely mine. But it’s a good one.”

“Lots of variables. Lots of things that can go wrong.”

“That’s a constant in this line of work. Something can always go wrong. Usually does. You’re used to that, Barnes.”

“Course I am,” Bucky snaps, mock-indignant. He smiles brilliantly, the expression like plastic. “I just prefer it when the whole damn world’s not on the chopping block.”

“Don’t we all,” Steve breathes with a plastic smile of his own. The Valkyrie, the Chitauri, now this. It’s not Bucky’s first rodeo either.

“Manhattan was different,” Bucky says like he can see where Steve’s thoughts have headed. “That shit escalated quickly. I have too much time to think here.”

It wasn’t fear. Steve could see that, looking at Bucky’s face and the eyes he doesn’t bother to hide. Fear would have made sense. Steve’s afraid, not of dying, but there are worse things in this world than death.

Bucky’s smile is wistful, his gaze calm in the way of dead things.

“You think you’re going to die tomorrow.”

Bucky doesn’t look surprised. He just shrugs, that affected nonchalance a stark contrast to the resignation on his face.

“You won’t,” Steve tells him; quiet, certain. “I won’t let you.”

Bucky blinks, eyes widening slightly. It’s gone in a moment, apathetic calm setting back in, this time accompanied by the sharp curve of his mouth.

“You should only promise me things you can give me, Steve.”

“I do–”

“And what you can give me,” Bucky cuts in, pressing a finger to Steve’s mouth, “is this, tonight.”

He straddles Steve in one, sinuous motion, but Steve doesn’t miss the way he winces. He must be sore – Bucky didn’t get injured while fighting off the STRIKE agents who tried to retrieve Sitwell, but it’s been a long few days. He also just took Steve’s cock with nothing but spit to ease the way.

“Easy,” Steve warns and is summarily ignored by Bucky who settles himself with his ass snug against Steve’s spent dick. It starts to perk up at the touch in spite of Steve’s reservations.

Bucky smirks, rubbing teasingly against it with his hands braced on Steve’s chest.

Steve looks at Bucky’s cock and finds it soft, come now drying on it. He reaches out to touch anyway, gratified by Bucky’s soft sigh.

“You’ll hurt yourself,” Steve tells him, words and actions not quite aligning. “I don’t want this to affect you badly tomorrow. We need you, Bar – Bucky.”

“A dick up my ass ain’t gonna break me, Cap. Not even your monster cock.”

“Jesus _wept_ ,” Steve hisses, closing his eyes like that will make the heat on his face go away. Cool fingers touch his cheeks, and Steve slits an eye open, finds Bucky caressing his face with a soft expression.

He catches Steve looking and snatches his hand back, smirking brazenly.

“C’mon, I can take it,” he says, half a challenge, tilting his head in a way that accentuates the long line of his throat. Darkening marks form a violent latticework on his flesh. He’ll go to war tomorrow wearing Steve on his skin, and the knowledge is heady, even when he knows it doesn’t mean anything, not to Bucky.

A good fuck.

Steve can give him that. It’s not selfless, far from it.

“Then get to work, Soldier.”

Steve lets go of Bucky’s cock with one last tug. It’s half-hard now, and Bucky jerks his hips forward, trying in vain to follow the touch. Steve folds his arms behind his head and sinks into the sheets, affecting nonchalance despite how pretty Bucky looks astride him.

But he’s looking down at Steve with wide eyes, like he’s been given the most shocking gift, and sometimes, this game is worth it, even though Steve knows it won’t end well.

“Yessir,” Bucky breathes after a beat, snapping a sloppy salute and rising to his knees in the same moment. He reaches back, wrapping his flesh hand around Steve’s dick and whistling softly when he finds it hard again.

“God bless America,” Bucky laughs, twisting to look over his shoulder as he gives Steve a few awkward strokes.

“Original,” Steve drawls, not even bothering to hide his smile.

Bucky winks at him, grinning ear to ear, looking beautifully, painfully young for an ephemeral instant.

He shifts backward, positioning Steve over his hole, and he can feel the wetness there. He can’t help reaching out, sliding his palms up Bucky’s thighs, nails scratching lightly at the straining muscles. Bucky breathes sharply when Steve fingers curl around his inner thighs and glide _up_ , teasing his balls and cupping his cheeks before spreading them wide.

“Fuck,” Bucky gasps, and Steve loves his weak his voice is now, how he’s trembling so sweetly. “Thought you wanted me to do the work.”

“You’re going to,” Steve assures him even as he rubs a thumb around his wet rim. Steve’s cock is poised to enter, and it’ll be easy with Bucky still dripping his come, but Steve likes feeling how fucking messy he is. He runs a finger along the trail of come down Bucky’s thigh, rubbing it into his skin.

Bucky’s half-gone already, eyes glassy and mouth open.

Steve pulls his hands back but settles them on Bucky’s hip, steadying them both.

“Go on.”

Bucky’s sliding down before the last syllable has even left Steve’s mouth, tight heat swallowing him greedily. They moan, both of them, the sounds rough and ragged. Bucky takes all of Steve in one smooth slide, and he looks like it’s killing him, expression twisted into a rictus of agonized pleasure.

“Easy,” Steve warns again, reaching up to touch Bucky’s face, patting soothingly.

 _Easy_ is the last thing he wants. He wants Bucky bouncing on his cock, hot and tight and mad with it. But it’s not so hard to play at kindness when Steve’s not the one setting the pace. He’s still aching to buck his hips and fuck Bucky until he can’t help but beg, but he doesn’t. Watches, instead, stroking his thumb along Bucky’s cheek, marveling quietly at how fucking handsome this boy is.

Bucky blinks a few times, and Steve notes with a harsh intake of breath that his lashes are wet. Blue eyes dark with need peer down at him, hazy for a long moment before focusing sharply. Unforgiving metal grabs his wrist, tugging it away from Bucky’s cheek and placing it flat on his throat.

Steve hesitates, fingers curled uncertainly against Bucky’s pulse. But Bucky just holds his hand there, eyes not wavering from Steve’s, and it feels like a test but also a plea.

He wraps his fingers around Bucky’s throat, soft at first and then firm, pressing his fingers into the bruises he worried into the flesh.

A whisper of a sound slips past Bucky’s lips. He leans into Steve’s hand and lifts his hips, letting Steve slide halfway out. He stays like that a moment, suspended between the cock in his ass and the hand on his throat.

Steve doesn’t ease up, keeps his grip tight, heart in his throat as Bucky’s Adam’s apple works against his skin with each shallow breath.

“Move,” Steve orders, and his voice is low, almost inaudible, but Bucky’s reacts like it’s an order barked in the midst of battle. Hips slam down, nails tear at Steve’s chest, and all the while, Bucky gasps for breath like he’s dying. His face is red, eyes dark and unseeing. He’s a mess already, pretty and perfect, and Steve can’t help it, has to fuck up into him, once and then again when Bucky whines like he’d scream if he could.

Steve tightens his grip and doesn’t miss how Bucky’s cock twitches, the head drooling copiously.

He takes Bucky in hand because he wants to feel it this time, wants Bucky spilling all over his fingers. He gets a whimper for his trouble, Bucky twisting his hips like he can fuck himself on Steve’s cock and push into his fist at the same time. His ass tightens, spasming around Steve’s cock. There’s come all over his dick, his own, and it leaks out even now as he moves in and out of Bucky, making a sloppy mess out of him.

“S-Steve,” Bucky rasps, struggling to speak, and Steve loosens his fingers. He can feel Bucky’s throat working to suck in air, can see him panting for it, and all it does is make him grip him hard again, heat bursting in his gut when Bucky gives in without a fight, just a pained little moan.

He’s a little useless now, grinding his hips like he doesn’t know how to stop but long past any coordinated effort. Steve takes over, thrusting his hips up and fucking Bucky in short, frantic strokes. He strokes him in time to it, and his grip is too tight, on Bucky’s neck and cock both, but he doesn’t let up, not when Bucky’s so fucking desperate for it, keening softly with each thrust, each rough stroke.

It doesn’t take him long to come, splattering Steve’s hand and their bellies with steaks of white. Steve lets him breathe through it, keeping his hand loose around his neck to feel him pant, but doesn’t let up on the fucking, bucking his hips wildly even as Bucky convulses helplessly around him.

Bucky tries to say something, mouth opening and closing, but all that comes out are soft, sweet sounds. He sounds fucked out, looks it too, tears sliding down his cheeks as he bounces frantically on Steve’s cock.

Steve takes pity on him, releasing Bucky’s neck and dick entirely. He pulls him down instead, their torsos flush together and smeared with come. Like this, he has Bucky’s face tucked into the hollow of his neck, his breath hot on Steve’s skin.

So in the end, it is Steve who does the work, holding Bucky pinned to his chest while he fucks him raw, fast and desperate until he spills in him again.

Bucky rolls off him the moment Steve’s arms slacken. He’s covered in sweat and come, some of it drying on his stomach. There’s more between his thighs, and Steve’s not much better either, splattered with the proof of Bucky’s pleasure. He likes it, feels oddly possessive about it, and no, not thinking about this.

He watches Bucky silently; he’s flat on his back, arm over his eyes as he comes down from his high. Steve can’t help lingering on the marks littered over his skin.

Eventually, Bucky heaves a deep, satisfied sigh and turns his head towards Steve. He’s not smiling, but there’s a happy tilt to his mouth.

“Wouldn’t mind dying tomorrow, Cap, not after this.”

Maybe it’s a joke – it sounds like one, but the look in Bucky’s eyes is too fierce to match his light tone.

Steve cups his cheek, gentle as he wipes away the last bit of wetness there.

“You’re not dying, Bucky. Not on my watch.”

There’s a second where he looks soft. A smile that’s almost realized. A flutter of long, dark lashes.

And then it’s gone, and Bucky’s pulling away, far from Steve.

“If you say so, Cap. Good night.”

Steve hums, trying not to let anything show. He doesn’t stay in bed; he’s a mess and needs a shower, and besides, the bed’s too small for both of them. There’s no way he won’t stifle Bucky.

* * *

Ironically enough, Steve’s the one who comes closest to death.

Except history repeats shamelessly, and he cheats death without even really trying to. He swims for land as debris plunges into the water around him. He gets by with a few scrapes and a bullet graze on his arm from where Rollins got in a lucky shot. The bleeding is sluggish by the time he reaches the shore.

He sits there on the ground, his back against a tree, and watches the Helicarriers plummet.

* * *

“Where’s Barnes?” Steve asks once Fury has left.

Natasha’s still there, staring at Fury’s gravestone with an unreadable look on her face. The pen drive she gave him is too heavy in his pocket. It’s important, that gesture. She could have left him to sort through everything she dumped on the net for the world to see. Steve has no intention of letting Hydra survive again – doesn’t matter how many heads he’ll have to cut off until he can burn the bloody body. And he knows, from the look in Sam’s eye, that he won’t let Steve do it alone.

Natasha has her own ghosts to chase, but she took the time to condense the information he needed into one portable drive.

He hasn’t seen Bucky since the Triskelion fell.

“Gone to ground,” Natasha tells him, turning to Steve. “He left me a way to contact him if the Avengers have to assemble again. You need him for Hydra hunting? I can ask.”

Steve smiles. He shouldn’t be surprised, but he is. Third time’s the charm. Maybe he’ll learn his lesson this time.

“No, Nat. I don’t need him.”

**Author's Note:**

> Drop me a line if you can!


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